The Home Front
by Uphill Both Ways
Summary: Namie tries to teach Izaya some valuable life skills.


"So what's this?"

"It's that _thing_ that you use to stir the stu—"

"Whisk."

"Well _fine_, if you wanna get technical."

"You're going to _need_ to be technical if you ever want to survive on your own!"

Namie snapped at an uncooperative Izaya, who just gazed lazily at the wall next to his employee. The brunette woman sighed in frustration at her stubborn boss, who seemed to lack _any_ skills in the food department.

"I hired you for a _reason_, Namie, and _part_ of that reason is so that I don't have to _cook_." Izaya was getting irritated; he didn't _need_ to have her wasting his time with this _kitchen lesson_—that was for _girls_. Namie looked as though she was ready to take the knife in her hand and thrust it through his chest, but she kept her calm demeanor rather well while she slowly explained, for the _seventh_ _time_, why she was doing this.

"Believe me, if I didn't have to, I wouldn't be doing this. I _do_ _not_ want any more frantic calls from you from the range of _midnight_ to _four_ _am_ because you have a _craving_-"

"That's your j-"

"SHUSH!" The threat was made known by the butcher's knife that the impatient woman gestured violently with at Izaya, and the man reluctantly stayed quiet, having enough respect for the woman's temper.

"It is _not_ my job to come at unseemly hours in the morning to sate your appetite –_stop laughing_- or to put _my_ _life_ on hold so I can come and help you decide what you want for desert. I am not coming out here _again_ in the middle of an important meeting because _you_ won't stop calling my phone since you have _no idea how to cook yourself food_. This is for _both_ of our benefits –_I heard that 'employees with benefits' mister_- so if you are the all-powerful god that you think you are, surely you should be able to make yourself some breakfast."

Namie finished with a flourish, hands on her hips and a challenging gaze directed at Izaya. She mentally rolled her eyes as he opened his mouth to speak, nothing he could say could be reasonable.

"Well if it really bothers you that much-"

"It does." A wistful glare and Namie put her hands up defensively.

"-then I could just go buy some sushi. I do like fatty tuna."

Namie felt like strangling the dark-haired man right then and there. "You completely missed the point. This is a simple life-skill that you should've learned before moving out from your parents."

"So now you care about what life-skills I posses? Are you that worried about me, Na~m~ie?" Izaya teased, leaning back in the hard wooden chair facing Namie and the oven.

"No. Not at all. Like I said, I'm not going to put my life on hold when you want a snack."

"Fatty tuna."

"What if you don't have money?"

"I _always_ have money, Namie." Izaya almost laughed.

"Someone stole it."

"Then why would I be worried about food? If someone stole my money –which they wouldn't- I'd be getting it back."

Namie face-palmed, Izaya was _hopeless_ when he didn't want to do something.

"Just…just pay attention and try to learn something, okay?" Namie's shoulders drooped in exasperation, and Izaya felt like he won some kind of little battle, grinning on the inside and out as he watched Namie pull out some supplies he didn't remember having.

"Do you at _least_ know what this is?" She asked, turning around with one of the objects in her hand.

"Spa~tu~la."

She nodded in approval, reaching behind her to grab something else off the oven top.

"This?"

"A _pan_, Namie, I'm not _that_ helpless."

She looked skeptically at Izaya, but grabbed another object nonetheless.

"And…?" she gestured to the vaguely spatula-shaped rubber object in her hand.

"That thing has a _name_?"

Namie nearly groaned in frustration.

"YES, Izaya, this '_thing'_ has a name. It's simply a _rubber_ spatula."

"It doesn't even _look_ like a spatula! _Besides_, I know it's the thing you use to scrape out the inside of a bowl, that's all anyone _really_ needs to know."

It's not as if Izaya had never seen it before, but the name was never important. He knew what it did –vaguely- and that's all he ever found important. Hell, Namie should be pleased that he knew anything about it at _all_.

A childish Izaya and an impatient Namie went through the list of a few more objects almost painlessly, though had some complications when it came time to show Izaya how to use a blender.

"So wait, which button does th—"

"DON'T TOUCH THA-"

A loud whirring sounded before thick liquid splattered all over the front of Izaya's shirt and Namie's outstretched arm.

"Ohh, that one." Izaya seemed rather amused by the whole thing, but Namie shook her head disapprovingly while she ripped off a paper towel to clean her arm.

"This is why I didn't want to start you off with _actual_ food substance," the woman scolded, moving the blender into the sink to be washed later.

"Pfft."

The next big step was using a mechanical can opener, which went pretty well until the point when Izaya tried to see if it would cut his finger (much like he did with the potato peeler and cheese grater) and wound up with a third bandage on his curious hand. Namie didn't bother trying the mechanical whisk to avoid more food splatter, and she doubted Izaya was going to try to bake cakes/cupcakes/cookies straight off the bat…or ever. Then again…you never really could tell with Izaya.

The final destination for their kitchen expedition (which Izaya seemed to be enjoying more than he anticipated) was the _oven_. Namie glared balefully at the sleek device, wondering how many things could go wrong; how much Izaya could burn with one lesson.

"We'll start out simple, let's try scrambled eggs first."

"That's for _beginners_," Izaya complained, watching Namie instruct him how to spray on the non-stick oil and take out the eggs and a mixing bowl.

"You _are_ a beginner," she reminded him, nodding to herself as she checked off her mental list of items. Izaya was still searching for excuses, trying to aggravate Namie to the point where she'd just give up and let him get back to his life. But no such luck so far.

"Well…what if I wanted to make lasagna?"

Namie snorted. "You've never even _had_ lasagna."

Izaya glared, "How would _you_ know?"

"I've been making you food for close to a _year_ now. I should _know_ that you're allergic to tomatoes."

Izaya just ignored her statement, choosing instead to walk over to the stove-top and examine the numerous dials and settings. Namie shoved the bowl with the eggs and a stirring thi—_whisk_ over to her 'student' and eyed him pointedly. Izaya shrugged and took the eggs in his hands, trying to recall what she told him earlier about breaking eggs, just coming up with the endless list of diseases he could contract if his hands weren't washed afterwards or if they weren't cooked right. Eggs were more dangerous than he thought, and he glared at them before breaking them open and stirring them together with the stir-_whisk_.

Namie nodded her approval, quite pleased with herself until she saw the man's eyes narrowing and smirk growing in delight as his stirring became more erratic and some of the liquidized egg splashed over the edges of the bowl. Confused and slightly disturbed, she ripped the bowl from his hands, breaking his concentration as his smirk faded and he remembered himself.

"Just let me finish this," she muttered, Izaya put his hands up in defense.

"Hey, just trying to help." She ignored him.

Watching Namie stir the eggs and eventually the mild together was immensely boring for Izaya, who decided to go back to examining the dials on the stove. She didn't have to stop him, he thought he was doing a pretty damn good job; it wasn't _his_ fault that his mind started comparing the individual eggs to humans and mixing them together was like breaking his beloved humans apart. Whatever. Izaya decided that he could at least turn the stove top on, twisting one of the dials that lined the top of the stove. Namie seemed to remember something, opening a drawer in the kitchen while Izaya still waited patiently. Or rather, _impatiently_, deciding that turning the dials was entertaining, and running his finger over each one, twisting them in random directions until laughter threatened to rip from his throat.

When Namie returned to the stove top, she went to drum her fingers over the sleek surface—and yelped, pulling her hand back in surprise as searing pain ran up her skin. She glared at the dials on the stove, noticing that they _all_ had been spun in random directions, and then sent a death glare in Izaya's direction. "What the _hell_ were you _doing_?" She snapped, stomping over to the sink and running cold water over her throbbing fingertips.

"_Trying_ to _help_! I turned the burners on _just for you_, didn't know you lacked _observation_ _skills_. You should probably put some ice on that." Izaya tried his best to hide the grin on his face, but failing when Namie's look of absolute rage met his vision.

"Stop. Trying. To. Help. Listen, watch, and _learn_." The brunette woman took a deep and determined breath, forcing each word through her teeth. She wasn't going to let Izaya get away from this lesson, _especially_ now.

"Some people believe that experience is the best way to learn."

"_Well what did this teach you?"_

"That you're pretty funny to watch when you're mad."

Namie ignored Izaya's childish giggles, she started this and she was going to go through with it. Even if if it meant that Izaya could only make vaguely edible food, she couldn't say she didn't try when his desperate calls for food came.

"The eggs. Pour them into the pan," she instructed, moving the pan over one of the burners, fixing the dials so that _one_ instead of _all_ of them (including the oven) were turned on. "About time," Izaya murmured just loud enough for Namie to hear, though she continued to ignore her obnoxious counterpart.

The rest of the lesson had gone boringly, but smoothly, and Izaya managed not to burn the eggs too badly. Well, the ones that didn't end up on the floor. In fact, they were halfway to edible, and Namie felt accomplished. Now Izaya didn't have to call her _every_ _damn_ _time_ he needed a snack, because they had covered the blender, the microwave, the can opener and the basics of making a sandwich quite well. If he _had_ to use the stove…well…he knew how to turn it on successfully. And if all else failed, he had his fatty tuna.

Izaya himself couldn't stop the swell of pride in his chest, conquering the kitchen hadn't been all that hard, and it was entertaining while it lasted. Plus he had new battle scars he could show off to Shizuo whether the man wanted to hear about them or not.

But that didn't mean he was going to quit bugging Namie at four AM.

* * *

The next day, Namie was surprised to find Izaya scrutinizing the washing machine when she went to do the morning laundry, tired from being awakened by Izaya's calls _still_, just for him to blabber on about nothing before she eventually just hung up and turned her phone off.

"Izaya, what are you doing?" She questioned, eyeing the bucket of clothes next to the machine.

"Well, if I need to know how to cook, I might as well figure this out. Can't be too hard," he explained, still not casting a glance at Namie and dumping the entire bucket straight into the gaping washer.

"No, Izaya, you need to so—"

"Ah-ah, Namie, I can do this _myself_. I'm not four."

Namie sighed, biting back a '_Are you sure?_' and watching skeptically as Izaya skimmed over the shelf of washing soaps and bleaches, flinching when the man grabbed a bottle of _bleach_.

"You can't put blea-"

"_**Namie**_! I've _got_ this." Izaya scolded in frustration, dismissing his employee with a wave of the hand while half-focusing on his task.

Namie rolled her eyes in defeat, turned on her heel and stalked away from the laundry room, imagining the disaster to come.

He'd learn to listen when his dark clothes came out with white splotches all over.

Or not.

* * *

**A/N: C:**


End file.
